


Bleeding Heart

by BrokePerception



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MARVEYFICCHALLENGE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9608840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokePerception/pseuds/BrokePerception
Summary: MARVEYFICCHALLENGES #67 ── It is, after all, a privilege to get to kiss Harvey Specter.





	

**"Bleeding Heart"** ── for the MARVEY FIC CHALLENGE #67

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**Author's Note : I know I am usually a lot pickier with my words. I rewrite and edit, pick at my stories with a fine-toothed comb to reassure my OCD that I did all I could to create a great piece. This time, I didn't. I will rewrite it, one day, will sift through my words and let OCD take control. Right now, though, I feel the need to put this up as it is. I feel like those feelings I tried to include in this will come across only better if I post it in its very first, straight-from-the-flow-of-my-eager-fingers version.**

* * *

A sigh left Mike Ross' lips as he set his empty glass down on the table before him and he glanced up at the big round clock hanging above the bar that he had located upon entering and had been looking back and forth at for the past ten minutes, only to have to come to the conclusion that the impossible had happened and that Harvey Specter, the best damn closer in New York, the man who was famous for not being late to anything no matter what happened, was late for their lunch meeting. The ex-prisoner tried to suppress his fidgetting in his seat as he told himself he was certain that he was at the right bistro. They had met there for lunch on more than one occasion, after all. Picking up his phone to unlock it and check for any missed calls or texts from Harvey or Donna to give him a good reason for Harvey not being on time, he felt his impatience, and a small shred of worry, grow in the pit of his belly when he found no messages waiting for him.

Making a split-second decision fueled by his level of discomfort, he nudged his chin at the waiter who had served him his glass of water and asked for the bill, his mind wandering as the knotted feeling in his stomach grew, resolute not to disolve soon. He was barely aware of the waiter coming by with the bill minutes later and was still caught in thought as he absent-mindedly paid and took his vest form the back of the chair to leave. The decision to leave had been made rather easily, but he had no idea where to go now. He realized with a pang to his stomach that he hadn't even called Harvey himself to ask what was taking so long. He thought maybe it was a good plan to do so – polite, at least. He also thought it was not fair of him to grow feelings of anger and annoyance without having any idea at all about the hold-up. He knew that it was not uncommon to be swamped at the last minute if you worked for Pearson Specter Litt. He tried to push the nagging little voice that reminded Mike of the fact that Harvey ── or Donna for him ── was known to inform the people he was meeting with if for one reason or another things did run late, to the back of his mind. His fingers still seemed to remember the ministrations they needed to call Harvey quite effortlessly, nearly unthinkingly. A few presses on the glossy screen without even looking at it had Mike listening to a dial tone that rang and rang far longer than he was used to from Harvey Specter. With a huff, he simply took the phone away from his ear and ended the call, not bothering to leave a voice mail. As he pushed his phone in the inside pocket of his vest once again, he became aware of the fact that apparently he had started walking, his feet naturally dragging him in the direction of Pearson Specter Litt somehow. He figured maybe he could go check up there and see why Harvey had missed lunch with him. A big part of him just wanted to go home and sulk, but the mature part of him said he had to be a responsible adult and wait until he had all the fact before he could allow himself to be angry, even though that was easier said than done.

He wasn't really aware of the commotion down the street, his eyes on his feet the entire time, until he was a few yards from the clutter of people who seemed even more pre-occupied than most people on a mid-day Tuesday in February. Panicked screeches reached his ears, and he wondered what exactly was going on. He could tell that it wasn't anything good, though. With a crease on his forehead, he began to push his way through the small mass, worming harder as he got closer to the centre, trying to look for the source of the minor hysteria. He was still being pulled in all directions, rather unsuccessful in his attempts, when he caught a small flash of a cufflink reflecting the light of the sun overhead, and the dark grey pinstripe against black of a suit pants leg. From one second to the next, Mike could feel his heart beat quicken, his senses telling him this person was not a stranger, whatever had happened to them. He could hear the blood rush through him, pounding in his ears and overruling all the other sounds around him. While it was only about ten seconds later in reality, it felt like it took a lifetime before he did manage to get past the people near the centre of the mass and could finally see what the fuss was about. He felt his breath halt in his throat as he pushed through further and fell to his knees, forcing people to take a step back. His eyes were transfixed on the face inches away from him, pulled into a pained expression, lips pulled in a tight line and eyes alternating between squeezed shut and fluttering as the man tried to stay conscious. Mike could tell it took him a lot of effort.

Despite looking only at him, he caught the woman beside him opening her mouth, probably about to ask what the hell he thought he was doing. The way she held the victim's head cradled on her thighs as she sat on her knees, one hand on his cheek and the other clasped around his wrist as if to check for a pulse, his arm bent and hand resting on his lower abdomen, told him that she must have experience in the medical field.

"Harvey?" Mike called, telling the woman who was holding him that he knew this man but mostly just wanting his former boss to know that he was there in hopes it would be a comfort. Harvey Specter was a tricky man when it came down to feelings and what was supportive and what not, but if he had been the one lying there, he would have felt better knowing that someone he knew was beside him. He would have felt significantly better and much less scared if the man had been Harvey himself, roles reversed, because he knew Harvey would never let anything happen to him, or… he would never let something more happen to him if he could help it.

Intuitively, noting the way Harvey's other hand lay limply by his side, Mike reached for it, not at all caring about the blood on the stained cuff of his shirt and suit, and clasped his own fingers around the wrist of his other hand, placing them so that he could feel the closer's faint pulse against the pads of his fingers. The strength Harvey Specter usually exuded was not reflected by the barely-there pulse he could register. He couldn't say that he knew the way Harvey's heart beat usually went, but he highly doubted that it was like this normally. This possibly scared him more than the blood dispersing across his chest, soaking the light blue shirt he was wearing and his usually impeccable three-piece suit, and the handle of a knife sticking up from his chest, seemingly lodged between his ribs, incredibly close to his heart. He must have been on the way to meet him, Mike realized with a pang, only a block away from the bistro when this, whatever the fuck this was, had happened. He vaguely realized that, if this had been six months ago and they had been getting lunch, together, then, when he had still worked for Harvey at the law firm, he would have been there with him, could have possibly scared his attacker off or at least tried to defend him. An odd feeling of guilt gripped him.

He didn't know what exactly he had expected, but it scared him that Harvey didn't acknowledge him. As he picked up on the sound of an ambulance in the distance, Mike's gaze travelled to the phone clasped tightly in the hand the woman held against Harvey's cheek to keep his head from lulling tot the side, telling him what he needed to know. 9-1-1 must have been called already. He ripped his gaze away and looked up at the woman, right into a set of fearful green eyes. At first, he was taken aback by the brightness of the stranger's eyes, then by the worry swimming in them that told him things were at least as serious as they looked. She tried to smile up at him reassuringly, but the smile wasn't convincing at all. As his gaze travelled back to Harvey, his eyes fell upon the hilt of the knife that seemed incredibly familiar somehow. His mind flashed back to the night before he had left Dansbury prison, to how close he had been to getting sauté-ed on it himself. 'Fuck', he mouthed as he wondered when the fuck Gallo had managed to leave prison and under which circumstances.

There were two kinds of people: those who babbled endlessly when they were in a situation like this and kept telling the victim everything was going to be alright, and those who remained eerily quiet. Mike Ross belonged to the last set of people. He tried to calm himself internally by a mantra going through his head at the sound of the ambulance coming closer, becoming shriller and impossibly louder. _Help is nearly here._ The sound made the hair on his arms rise up. He was barely aware of it; it was also not something he could help.

"Please, people, get back!" the woman beside him, who had been quiet until then, yelled, extending her arm and making a big movement to shoo the on-lookers away so that the paramedics could get through. For one reason or another, her voice told Mike that she was not the kind of person to cross, and the people around them jumped back immediately, seeming to understand that, too. He glanced up at her briefly before looking back down at his former boss. The ambulance was nearly there. Harvey would get help soon. Mike thought that it was high time for them to, though, as he noted the slackened expression on Harvey's face, the lines around his eyes thin as they fluttered. Mike didn't know all too much of Medicine though he had read up on things and taken an exam for a first year Medicine student once. He did know, though, that it was always in the victim's best interest not to lose consciousness, and he began to panic slightly, his own heart racing and slamming against his ribcage as Harvey's chest rose and fell slowly and unevenly, his breath labored, his pulse against Mike's fingertips weakening even more.

"Don't give up," he caught himself saying, gripping the man's wrist even harder as he faintly registered the sound of a van coming to a halt, car doors being opened, a stretcher being removed and rolling in their direction, as if he was afraid that someone would push him away and was unwilling to do so. Realistically, he knew he would have to move soon to allow the paramedics to do their jobs, though. His eyes remained on Harvey and only Harvey as the woman beside him slid her hand up from his other wrist to his cheek, patting it gently but firmly in order to keep him conscious. He felt an ache grip him as he reluctantly released Harvey's wrist and moved back on his knees as the paramedics dropped down and began to do what they had to, trained, knowing exactly what to do. Mike, himself, could only look on.

.

Leaning his head back against the clinically white wall in the waiting room, shifting painfully in the highly uncomfortable seats, Mike's eyes slid up to the big clock on the wall opposite him, and he realized he had spent a lot of time that day looking at the time, watching the minutes, the seconds, tick by, as he waited on Harvey, waited for news on Harvey, only Harvey. Running his hand over his numbing thigh, he grumbled inwardly at the seeming inability of any hospital he had ever been in to invest in good, comfortable seats. They should be aware that a hospital often required people to have to sit in the waiting room for hours on end. There was no good reason for them not to think of the visitors, seeing the amount of studies he had read in the past that pointed at the significance of supportive friends and family present during patient recovery. He couldn't help but wonder if he was that kind of person for Harvey, too, and if not, if he could be.

Unable to take the cramping in his leg any longer, Mike slowly pushed himself from the seat and began to pace across the small expanse of space between the table on which several types of magazines lay and the strategically placed waiting chairs. His eyes were cast down at his feet, his hands wringing together nervously and impatiently. He had been there for four and a half hours already, without news. Mike had gone along to the hospital, telling the paramedics that Harvey was his friend and that they were supposed to meet for lunch, and it might have gotten him a spot in the corner of the ambulance, just from reach as he watched them do their jobs and saw Harvey's face turning more gray and deathly with every corner turned, the paramedics' hushed voices grave and serious but unintelligible, but that was as far as he had gotten. He supposed the hospital must have been informed of their proximity in due time, because upon arrival there, a team had been waiting for him to be taken from the ambulance, wheeling him off as fast as they could to an OR that had already been prepared. A nurse's hand on his shoulder had held him back and guided him to the waiting room, telling him that they would come and inform him once they knew more.

As he remembered being pushed into the waiting room, he realized with a pang that the nurse hadn't even bothered to ask Harvey's name and age or any medical knowledge that he could provide, and he wondered if he had looked that unrelated to the famous closer or if he had looked that upset that they hadn't even bothered asking him, not wanting to make him think more than he had to. He wasn't sure if he appreciated the gesture if it had been the latter.

He took a deep breath as he raised his arms and wove his fingers together behind his head, kept pacing, kept looking anxiously from the waiting room into the hallway to see if he recognized any of the doctors walking around there as having rushed off with Harvey to tend to him. Ever since Harvey's graying face had disappeared from sight, he had felt a tightness in his chest that he couldn't place or control, let alone get rid of. The worst part was not knowing what was going on. For all he knew, Harvey had died on the table, and… _No_.

He forced the horrible thought from his mind. That was easier said than done, though. He couldn't help thinking about the way Harvey had looked when the ambulance arrived, and how high time it had been when they had carted him off. He probably owed his life to the woman who had taken care of him until paramedics arrived, too. Most people would have felt the urge to pull the knife from his chest, unaware that letting it stay where it was, lodged between the damaged muscles, was actually what was keeping him alive, stopping the bleeding that would start as soon as the knife was moved. The mere thought of losing Harvey, of having had to get a call that stated that they never would have lunch again, that he hadn't made it… it made him feel empty inside, like he had when he discovered his parents had died and the aftermath of it. He ached at the mere thought of never getting to see that crooked smile again or hearing those stupid, elitist little jokes.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, blinking towards the tall windows and the setting sun visible through the curtains, splaying an orange glow across the wall and ceiling. He would have gotten home from work now in normal circumstances, like Harvey. As soon as he had placed himself on a chair in the waiting room and glanced up at the time, it had hit him that he should have been back already from lunch, as should Harvey, and he had picked up his phone, first calling his own boss, then Donna, basically telling them the same story. He had told them that Harvey, his friend ── or so he had told his boss ── had been involved in a serious accident and he was at the hospital with him. His boss had understood; Donna had bombarded him with questions about how serious it was and what the hell had happened. He had done his best to answer as honestly as possible without riling her up the way he felt he was. His answer had been that Gallo had wanted payback and had sought so in attacking him on the street, followed quickly by a request to cancel all meetings Harvey still had for that day, have them reschuled or taken over by someone else. He had had to promise her he would call as soon as he knew something more, which he still didn't. For the amount of time that had passed by, though, he was impressed that she hadn't called back yet, assuming that she was probably swamped with rearranging Harvey's entire busy schedule, trying her best together with Louis and Rachel to stay on top of the work load, which he knew to be hard with Jessica's departure.

His mind landed on Rachel and the last fight they had had, if you could call it that, since neither of them had actually ended up yelling. Before he really knew it, he was sucked in with the memory. She had come home particularly late from Columbia that evening two weeks ago now. The clock had struck past ten-thirty when she came in. She hadn't given him a kiss or a hug when she did, as had been their custom, barely managing a smile as she said she wasn't hungry, telling him that she had grabbed a sandwich on the way, before disappearing into the bathroom to take a shower. He had found it odd to begin with, but he hadn't questioned it, because he had known that the long days and nights were getting to her.

That had been until they had crawled into bed together and she had frozen when he had tried to hold her as they usually had at night. He hadn't had a chance to ask what was the matter before her honest side couldn't hold back the secret anymore and she had spilled that she had run into Logan at lunch and that he had said all the right things… and they had ended up in his bed together. More shocked than anything else, Mike had grabbed a hold of his pillow without saying a word, holding up his hand as she had turned on the light and tearfully begged for him to listen to her apologies, walking into the living room to sleep on the couch, simply saying that he would like for her to stay at her own apartment the next day, which she had never really cancelled, always having told him she would at the end of the year. She had known better but to follow him, and he had been up all night listening to her crying, releasing several tears of his own.

She had been gone as he had asked when he got back from work the next day, having left him a long letter to apologize once more for what she had done, saying she understood his decision but she would still hope for him to forgive her. He had been all sorts of angry and upset, but most of that had passed. As far as he knew, she and Logan hadn't seen each other anymore since and hadn't started dating or anything of the sort, and he still loved her… but he didn't have it in him anymore to be afraid of her loving Logan more. He guessed he understood maybe they had a special connection, but he had just thought that the connection they had had had been more special to her. Things had been seven degrees of awful when she had come by four days later to pick up some clothes, having had the decency not to contact him. They had spoken briefly, and they had had an open, honest conversation ending in their permanent break-up. Back then, and now, he had to admit that Harvey had been right to a certain degree. He should have known what would happen between Rachel and Logan. It had given him a good insight in what might have happened had Harvey's and his plan to get him from jail not worked.

Turning on his heel, he decided that even if there was still no news on Harvey, he had seen enough of the waiting room for now and could do with a stretch of the legs. As he left the room and blinked up the hallway further, in the direction of where he knew the operation rooms to be, he noted a young couple probably not too much older or younger than him, at the nurse's desk. The young woman had both of her hands on her swollen belly and seemed to have a hard time breathing. It looked like she was in labor. Given the look on the guy's face and the panic in his quite erratic movements, he assumed that it was their first. He became acutely aware of the way life worked, with giving and taking, birth and death, and he realy hoped Harvey wouldn't be counted in with the last category. He just wished he knew what was happening. Releasing a deep sigh, he began to make his way to the nurse's desk as well. If he didn't try, he wouldn't ever know. He stayed at a fair distance to allow the couple before him a private enough conversation before smiling up at them in what he hoped to be encouragement as they were told to go to the waiting room like he had been, his smile staying in place as he tried his best to garner the information, any shred of it, that might make his mind slow down just enough, his chest constrict that bit less. "Hi. I'd like to know if there is any news on Harvey Specter," he began. "He was brought in with an ambulance about five hours ago. I came with him. I would like to know how he is and when I can see him."

The nurse before him didn't seem impressed at all as she pursed her lips and raised a brow. He had liked the previous one better, who had guided him to the waiting room to begin with. He swore high and low he would scream if this one told him the same, though. "Err. I'm sorry. What did you say your relationship with that patient was? Are you his next of kin, immediate family, maybe even his emergency contact?"

Mike let go of the breath he had been holding in a long, deep sigh. He should have expected that answer. For a full minute, he kept debating whether or not he should lie to her, the lie on his lips as his natural instinct pushed him to do what was necessary to get to be with Harvey. It was the fact that his biggest lie so far had probably been the cause for them to be where they were that stopped him. "I'm neither," he said as he turned back on his heel and made to go back to the waiting room as he most likely would have been told had he ended the conversation less abruptly. He didn't want to wait for someone to remind him of the fact he could stay all he wanted, no one was going to tell him anything regarding his former boss' condition. Or so he thought.

As he made to go back to the waiting room, his eyes fell on one of the doctors he remembered from earlier, having been there when the ambulance arrived, coming towards the nurse's desk as she held a chart. She didn't seem to notice or remember him at all, though. His suspicion was confirmed as he watched her place the chart on the nurse's desk, Harvey's familiar-looking wallet on top of it so that the other woman could sign him up in the system. A need to know how Harvey was doing filled him even more than before, and Mike spun on his heel, ignoring the small bout of dizziness at his own rapid movements, taking two quick strides back towards the desk to put him face-to-face with the doctor. At this clear indication that he wanted to talk to her, she looked up, and nausea coiled in Mike's gut as he noted small speckles of blood on her jawline that she must have missed ── Harvey's blood.

"I'm sorry," Mike apologized. "I just… I think you did the surgery on my friend. I just wanted to know how he's doing."

The middle-aged blonde's mouth opened, ready to give him the same damn answer he was used to by now. If he wasn't immediate family or his emergency contact, they were not free to discuss the patient with him. He watched her close her mouth once more, gray eyes sweeping over his face and taking in what he was sure must be an anxious expression. She seemed mollified.

"Please," he continued. "I rode along with the ambulance. Please just tell me how he is doing, in── in understandable language."

A sigh. Mike could tell he had convinced her. "Mr. Specter's suffered damage to his right ventricle," she spoke, "We've managed to remove the knife and stop the bleeding, and he's made it through the surgery as well as he could have. I'm sure you will understand his condition is still critical, though. He is in the ICU until we can say with certainty that he is stable enough to be moved. He will be asleep for a good long while now, I'm assuming."

Mike nodded solemnly as he took in the information. "When, eh, when can I see him?"

The emergency doctor's brow lifted as she seemed to consider the answer. "Unless you are immediate family or listed as Mr. Specter's emergency contact, I am afraid that we're going to have to hold off on that for now, at least until tomorrow. The police have been told to wait to take his statement until then, too. While my preliminary analysis is good and I think he can make a full recovery, cardiac bleeding is not a small thing. He will need a lot of rest in the coming days and weeks, aside from the emotional trauma he will probably suffer in the aftermath of this attack. My experience is that that drags on much longer than anything physical."

She didn't wait for him to respond but gave him a small half-smile before she took another chart off of the top of the desk, cast her eyes down at it and went to retrieve the patient from the waiting room. Mike was left with a mixture of emotions as he mulled over the things the doctor had said. Gallo had stabbed him to the heart. He was not a doctor or any other kind of expert in the medical field, but logical thought as well as the doctor's words and the way in which she had said them, told him that he had been very close to losing Harvey that day, and that a stroke of luck on all sides was probably responsible for him making it through so, dare he say, easily.

He ran a hand through his face, rubbing it, trying to collect his thoughts. He considered what the doctor had said about the emotional aspect of it all. As far as he knew Harvey, he could only confirm that that would be the tricky part. He was a strong man, and Mike knew that if anyone could pull through, it was him, even if a fear still gripped him with the possibility of complications after the surgery and other things. He was also more stubborn than anyone he had ever met, more stubborn than him, and knowing him, he would try to hide his feelings regarding the matter and suck them up on his own, the only one he would be willing to reveal to the world outside of his own mind an anger at Gallo, which would fuel an urge to get the culprit the heaviest punishment he was ever going to get.

As he took his hand away from his face and he stared at the entrance of the emergency room, watching people come and go during the several minutes he kept his gaze trained there, guilt washed over him. If he hadn't pissed Gallo off more. If he had been more careful about the secret he carried. If he hadn't tried and succeeded in convincing Harvey to hire him in the first place, none of this would have happened. The what ifs were doing his head in, and all he wanted was to see Harvey and see for himself that he was as okay as could be according to the circumstances… and apologize.

It was when he dragged his gaze away from the entry doors that it accidentally fell on Harvey's file, his room number written near the top of the paper. Mike had learned to read upside-down very easily during his youth, as a six-year-old challenging himself with holding his fairytale books upside down and reading that way, so it was not at all difficult for him to find which room Harvey had been brought to, even if it hadn't been intentional.

He could have decided not to act on it. He could have decided to go back to the waiting room after informing Donna and the others of the recent developments, but a selfish part of him took over in that moment, and before he knew it, his eyes were reading the signs and his feet carrying him to the floor and room he knew Harvey Specter to be in.

As he took the elevator, looking at the signs and walking down the hallway in the direction of Harvey's room, hoping that he was taking the right path, Mike tried to look as casual as possible. He knew that it wasn't past visiting hours yet, so there was no reason for him not to be there… aside from the fact that he was not deemed close enough to Harvey to be in the room with him. For one reason or another, as he confirmed that he had reached the right room, he felt cold sweat quickly appear on his forehead. Quenching it down, he glanced up and down the hallways, suspiciously pretending not to be suspicious before trying the door handle and slipping inside, hoping against all hope that no medical staff was in the room to question him and his presence there.

As the door fell shut behind him with a soft click and he took several measured steps into the intensive care unit room, relief washed over him as he noticed that there was no one else in the room but the man in the bed. As his blue gaze fell on him, the feeling of relief was immediately replaced by an intensifying of the tightness that he had felt in his chest before. Feelings of dread and an all-encompassing guilt gripped him, and unwillingly, he felt tears push at his retinas, the sight before him so far from the person he had known, so far from the strong and invulnerable, cold-hearted closer. That persona had been reduced to the unconscious form before him, attached to several IV's and looking as pale as he had ever seen anyone alive look. The crisp white sheet that covered him lay across his waist, revealing strong hard planes of muscle, covered by a white gauze across his heart area. His mind flashed back to the sight from earlier, with the handle of the knife sticking from the man's chest, and Mike swallowed hard. His eyes locked onto the rise and fall of the other man's chest, and as shocking as the sight before him was, seeing that gave him a strange comfort.

Quickly scanning around the room, he noticed a hard chair pushed into the corner of the room. It didn't look any more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room ── if possible, even less ── but it would be better than staying on his feet. From the moment he had stepped into the room, he had felt that that was where he was meant to be, as strange as it might sound, and he was going to stay by Harvey's side as long as he could, too.

As long as he could look at him and kept checking the rise and fall of that chest, he could comfort himself with the knowledge that he was going to pull through and hold back the feelings of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him otherwise. It took him a handful of strides across the small hospital room to reach the chair, grab hold of it and drag it back to the bedside. As soon as he sat down, facing Harvey, he could confirm his suspicions and already tell that this chair was probably the most uncomfortable piece of furniture owned by the hospital. He wondered if all chairs in ICU were the same for a second before he shifted, attempting to make himself as comfortable as he could despite the circumstances, before fishing into the inside pocket of his vest and dealing the number he knew from the top of his head. As someone with an photographic memory, he never had needed to save numbers into the contact list of his phone to remember them and who they belonged to, but the number he formed at that moment would have been impossible for him to forget with or without his kind of mind, given the fact that it had been his most-dialed number over the course of the past years.

He was not surprised to hear Donna's voice on the other end of the line after one beep, as if she had waited by the phone despite probably still being swamped with rearranging everything at Pearson Specter Litt in the aftermath of the name partner's incident. He hadn't expected anything less from her, nor did he feel like he could blame her. Her voice sounded angsty as she immediately bombarded him with questions about how Harvey was doing and if he had seen him already, the familiar Donna way. He tried to muster a calmness that he, too, had to force, as he told her Harvey had pulled through surgery just fine and that he was with him at the moment. He conveniently forgot to tell her what exactly the surgery had entailed and that he wasn't technically allowed to be in there with Harvey.

He was a bit surprised that she hadn't asked exactly what had happened, because Donna Paulson was the kind of woman who knew everything or discovered everything if for one reason or another there was something she didn't know. He assumed that she was protecting herself, since she wouldn't be able to come by the hospital anyway, protecting herself from the hard truth. Although, being Donna, she probably had a good idea of the truth already, or enough not to have to ask about the details. He briefly asked how things were at Pearson Specter Litt, receiving a non-commital answer that implied whatever he had in mind still didn't cover it, followed by a list of demands: that he couldn't leave Harvey alone, that he had to keep her up-to-date and let them know when they could visit as well. For one reason or another, despite him not telling her that he hadn't been allowed in with Harvey technically, he was certain that she knew, whether because of experience with this kind of emergencies or just because she was Donna.

As he ended the phone call and pocketed his phone, he sighed and looked at Harvey again, remembering the words from the doctor from before, that he would be asleep for a good long time. With a bit of luck, it would mean that the nurses wouldn't come in for a good long time either and that he would be left in peace where he was. For one reason or another, the mere thought of leaving Harvey's bedside after having found him the way he had, after having been the one to ride along with him in the ambulance, after having come so close to the only person in his life, besides his Grammy, who had ever told him what he needed to hear, made his stomach quench again. It had done that a lot since Harvey hadn't showed up for lunch, he realized.

Just as he was about to advert his gaze and look from the window, Mike thought he saw Harvey's brow flinch slightly. He held his eyes upon Harvey's face, scanning his expression, trying to decide if he had imagined the movement or not, for a long moment. Then, just as he was about to look away again, having convinced himself that it must have been a figment of his imagination, it happened again, and this time he was certain that he had seen a small crease crinkle across Harvey's forehead, less subtle than before. Mike's mouth opened slightly as he made to say something, anything, reassuring or otherwise useful for when Harvey woke up ── which, by the looks of it, against all odds and expectations from the attending physician, seemed to be happening sooner rather than later. If anyone could beat the odds, it would be Harvey Specter.

The corner of Mike's mouth trembled as he didn't quite know what to do. Part of him wanted to smile at that, but there was a fear that held him back from being relieved, too. He was afraid of how Harvey would react when he woke up, of how he would feel and how that would affect him and the way he would behave. He could only imagine that Harvey Specter wouldn't be thrilled at being in the hospital, and he doubted that he would be an exception to the rule that pain made people cranky. Harvey Specter was usually cranky, and since he was still human, no matter how many people would like to argue that point, Mike could barely imagine what he was in for. He felt a certain responsibility to be the one telling him everything, though. It wouldn't be fair to leave it up to anyone else.

Sure enough, the crinkling on the older man's forehead increased, his head lightly trashing from the left to the right, a moan slipping past pale lips unbidden as he seemed to be pulling through the fields of sleep towards the surface, breaking through it with a gasp as his eyes shot open, as if he had awoken from a nightmare. Maybe that wasn't too far from the truth.

Mike came to his feet, suddenly becoming a little nervous as he leaned over the bed halfway, so that Harvey saw that he wasn't alone as soon as he dragged his eyes from the ceiling. He didn't say a word, though, as he let Harvey gather his senses. His gaze briefly flitted to the older man's chest and how it rose and fell more erratically, unevenly. He balled his hand in a fist as he suppressed the urge to lay his hand flat on Harvey's sternum in a childish effort to calm him down. Instead, he re-averted his gaze to the lawyer's face, watched those hazel eyes zoom back and forth, left to right and back, as he came to and tried to determine where he was and what had gotten him there, what had happened exactly. He still wondered if he should say something or not. He gave it another moment before he decided to speak, trying to tread lightly, be informative yet casual.

"You know, you didn't have to take a 'shot through the heart'. You could have just told me you weren't up for having lunch with me," he spoke gently.

The words caused the reaction Mike had been hoping for. Harvey's brow lifted halfway before his entire forehead scrunched up, his eyes squeezing shut, and a groan came past his lips again, interrupted by a cough and clearing of his throat. His eyes remained closed as he spoke in a scratchy and barely audible voice, pushing past the sound of rope-skipping hippopotamuses in his brain, showing that he couldn't only quote movies but also songs, "Don't you know you're to blame. You're the one who gives love a bad name."

The quote effectively made Mike smile, but his smile fell away immediately as he saw Harvey moving and realized that he was trying to place his hands so that he could find purchase in the sheets and push himself up. "Harvey! You shouldn't be doing that!" Mike argued, extending his hands to assist him even though he was telling him to do the opposite. "I'm not even sure you were supposed to be awake already. They told me you would probably be asleep for a long time to come."

At this, Harvey's hazel eyes opened blearily half-way, and he halted in his movements to answer, locking his eyes on his former associate, seemingly unable to put his strength and energy towards both moving and talking at the moment. "I'm not laying down unless I am sleeping," Harvey answered simply as if it was the most normal and logical thing. "Also, for the sake of full disclosure, anesthetics have never had the desired long-lasting effect on me. They discovered that when my gall bladder was removed when I was twenty-six."

Mike raised his brow at the small bit of personal information shared. Every bit of it was something new he learned about the great Harvey Specter. In that moment, he felt like he had been punched in the gut as well. How well did he truly know Harvey Specter? Weren't you supposed to know those things about the people you called your friends? And he had told the hospital staff high and low that they were best friends. What a joke. Mike suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable where he was and doubted if he should even be there. His doubts were interrupted by a new set of groans wheezing past Harvey's lips, small movements caught in the corner of his eye as Harvey pushed his fists in the mattress and tried to raise himself up in the seated position he wanted.

Figuring that Harvey wasn't going to listen to him anyway and that, as usual, he was just going to do whatever the fuck he pleased, Mike reached for the man's upper arm in an attempt to help steady him. The simple, well-meant gesture caused for the lawyer to turn his gaze towards him and shoot daggers. If looks could kill, he definitely would have lost his life that very second, Mike thought. Slowly, he released his grip on his former boss' arm and held his hands up, as if caught red-handed by the police during a robbery, and watched as Harvey continued to shift in the hospital bed, push and pull until he had settled to the best of his abilities. Sometimes, Mike wished that the man wasn't nearly as stubborn as he was. It would have cost him a lot less effort and pain to rely on Mike to help him rather than act like nothing had happened and being set on wanting to do everything on his own.

So Mike held back and forced himself not to help, because his help was not warranted, quenching his instincts to reach over and do everything he could to make things easier and more comfortable for the man before him. He debated for several moments about whether or not he should sit back down or not, not wanting to close himself off if for one reason or another, by a miracle, Harvey changed his mind regarding needing and accepting his help.

Harvey Specter did not at all seem inclined to show any kind of weakness, though, as he should have already expected. Silence stretched between them as Mike just stood there helplessly, watching Harvey's forehead crinkle with pain, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to be strong as usual. He couldn't even imagine what it must have felt like to be stabbed to the left ventricle and suffer through the aftermath of it. He assumed that the medical staff must have had to damage his muscles and ribs if the blade hadn't in order to remove it, and then there was the fact that Harvey was awake a hell of a lot quicker than they probably would have liked, pretending like nothing had happened, forcing himself to speak as if he had just woken up from a mid-day slumber, pushing on. Mike didn't think he hadn't noticed his own weak voice as he had tried to speak. He assumed that Harvey was trying to ignore the display of weakness, as subtle as that was, by acting like he didn't, so Mike tried not to, either.

He felt at a complete and utter loss, and he thought maybe it hadn't been such a good idea for him to sneak by the nurses and stay with Harvey anyway. Harvey hated small talk, Mike hated silence. This sometimes caused frustration between the two men. Very often, Mike caught himself just speaking and trying to fill up the gap without realizing it. As he stood there, rather awkwardly, not knowing what to do, honestly just feeling the need to flee, he tried to salvage the situation with words. "How are you feeling? Do you remember anything?"

As soon as he had said those words, he could have palmed his face at his own stupidity. He could have foregone asking the first question entirely, for you didn't ask Harvey Specter how he felt. If he deemed the question worthy of an answer at all, the answer was a deflective, often snarky, one. He would have had a shot at getting the second question answered if it hadn't been following one regarding how Harvey Specter felt. Mike began to realize that maybe he shouldn't have given into his need to go up to Harvey's room and see for himself that he was okay. If so, maybe it was time for him to go. He had seen Harvey now, had seen that he was awake and as well as could be with his own eyes, had even gotten to speak with him ── nothing he would have expected when he came there to begin with.

When Harvey looked up at him and glared with annoyance at the questions asked, Mike took a step back, suddenly feeling like the fresh associate he had been all those years ago. He had gotten stronger, smarter and more willing to fight for what was right ── maybe he had become a little more like Harvey over the years ── but sometimes, that glare could still reduce him to the same rookie he had been. "Okay," he began. "I, uh, I guess I'll be on my way. I just wanted to make sure you were as okay as you could be, but since I'm not technically allowed to be here to begin with…"

At this, Harvey frowned, questioningly, obviously wanting an answer.

"They didn't want to let me come see you, because I'm not your immediate family or emergency contact," Mike said, waiting a moment before realizing that Harvey's brow was still lifted in expectation of a further explanation. He sighed. "I saw your room number on your chart when your doctor came to bring it to the nurse's desk. I spoke to her briefly, but she didn't really tell me very much. She said your surgery went as well as it could have and that you would probably be asleep for a good long while, but I guess she was mistaken about that."

Harvey's forehead relaxed as he nodded at the information given. "Did she tell you how long I'm going to have to stay here? I hate hospitals, so the sooner I can go home, the better."

Mike's head shook. "No, she didn't. I told you, they didn't tell me very much at all."

Harvey's lips pulled in a tight line as if he was annoyed at Mike for not being able to answer his question, and Mike could tell he was even more cranky than usual, so he figured it was time for him to go. Maybe Harvey could sleep some more and get the rest he needed and feel better in the morning. He should have listened to the nurses rather than his own childish needs to see his mentor with his own two eyes to reassure himself he was going to be okay. He felt hazel eyes burn into him as he moved around and reached for the chair beside the bed, picking it up gently and dragging it back to where he had gotten it from in the corner of the room.

As soon as he had placed it back, he turned on his heel to look at Harvey again, remaining at the end of the hospital bed, his hand coming down on the metal frame and patting it absent-mindedly. "Police are probably going to come by to take your statement tomorrow," he said, subtly revisiting the question about him remembering anything. "I informed Donna of what happened and made sure that all your meetings and other pressing matters were either rescheduled or taken over by someone else," he said, as a parting gesture, before he tapped the bed frame twice and made to turn around, stopping himself somewhere halfway. Mike's forehead scrunched up as he thought of words to properly express what he wanted to say without sounding like a creep. "You know, I'm really glad that you're going to be okay."

Harvey responded with a crooked half-smile that, for the first time since he had seen Harvey lay there with his head on the other woman's thighs, a knife handle jutting from between his ribs, blood dispersing quickly across his shirt, made his chest feel a small bit less constricted. He felt like the shackles had been released just an inch, but it made such a big difference already, and it made him feel confident enough to leave the room in a bit, knowing Harvey would be okay. "You know what they say. Tough as nails," Harvey responded.

Mike couldn't help but offer a small smile in return. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, the door to Harvey's room opened, revealing a short and plump dark-haired nurse who at first seemed surprised to see him there and then absolutely seething. She was probably there to check on Harvey's vitals. Mike thought that fleeing was the best option for him right then, seeing as he had just been about to leave anyway, and so he told the nurse. "I was just about to go!" he said, scrambling to do as he was saying, briefly looking over his shoulder to look at Harvey to tell him goodbye. "Try to get some sleep in! I'll be back tomorrow!" he said before rushing from the door under the murderous gaze of the witch-resembling middle-aged nurse.

"You better well be!" he heard Harvey's answer as he slipped through the door, followed by what he was certain was a disagreement between the patient and the staff as it fell shut behind him. He thought he vaguely heard something about him having been supposed to be asleep or at least laying down, followed by a familiar voice saying something to the likes of being their own person who could decide for themselves when they could wake up and sit up.

The voices dwindled off into nothingness as he walked down the hallway the way he had come, this time completely dark and barely illuminated by lights along the wall. He assumed most patients here were already asleep, even though he didn't know exactly how late it was. Seeing as it was the ICU, most of them probably had serious conditions that made them sleep a lot. With a small smile to himself, he wondered exactly how long it would take for the medical staff to move Harvey from the ICU to a regular room. As his feet dragged him towards the exit and home, it fully hit him how tired he was after the day he had had. If not Harvey, at least he would sleep very well that night.

.

As Mike walked down the by then familiar hallway ── although he had to admit that it looked different in the early morning light that it had in the later afternoon and evening ── he was incredibly well aware of how tired he still felt, despite having had at least a few hours of sleep. He wondered if it was his age catching up with him and making him less able to survive off of less sleep without energy drinks or getting high. He had fallen asleep nearly immediately as he hit the pillow, not even having bothered to grab something to eat or take off his clothes before walking straight into the bedroom and falling back in bed, barely managing to remember to pull his phone from the inside pocket of his vest and throwing it on the night table to keep himself from accidentally crushing it in his sleep.

He had to admit that he also felt a bit anxious. He hadn't bothered changing the time on his alarm before falling asleep, figuring that he would just get up at the time he usually did, take a shower and get dressed, grab something to eat and go up to the hospital as soon as he was ready to go. He wasn't certain what time frame Harvey had had in mind the night before when telling him he better be there, but the last he wanted to do was piss him off even more. In fact, Mike hoped that Harvey was in a slightly better mood than the previous night.

Mike wasn't entirely convinced that his presence had been appreciated, given Harvey's ungrateful behavior, so he had been, and still was, slightly confused as to why Harvey had demanded his presence there exactly. He surmised that it probably had something to do with the law aspect of the situation, thinking it would be good for someone else with a mind for law to be there when the police came to take his statement. If anything, he guessed he would discover soon enough.

His thoughts and wonderings as to why exactly he had been summoned were interrupted by the sight of a male nurse just leaving Harvey's ICU room. Briefly, he wondered just how many nurses worked at the hospital before the young man addressed him with a big smile on his face. "You're here for Mr. Specter?" he assumed.

"Ah, uh, I mean ── yeah, I am," Mike muttered, coming to a halt. The clenching feeling in the pit of Mike's stomach that hadn't been there when he woke began to return as worry filled him. The only reason why he didn't break in a cold sweat was the reassuring smile on the dark-skinned man's kind face. He suppressed the urge to ask if something was wrong, but he guessed his expression had revealed what he had been thinking.

"You're Mike Ross," the nurse stated, simply, and Mike didn't bother asking how he knew. "Mr. Specter mentioned you. I've just attached a new IV, so it is very possible that he will be sleeping for a few hours again, and it is important that you let him."

Mike nodded in understanding and gave a small smile he hoped could convey his gratefulness for the willingly offered information, even if he suspected that Harvey might have something to do with the openness of the staff towards him, especially since apparently Harvey had 'mentioned him'. The nurse gave a smile back, and as Mike watched him walk away to his next patient, still carrying a few charts in his arms, Mike wondered how exactly Harvey had mentioned him and to what end as well. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he tried the door and went in.

As the nurse had already warned, Harvey was asleep when he came in. He lay in the same position as he had when Mike had come in the day prior, sheet pulled up to his waist as he lay on his back, with the small exception that his skin had taken a healthier, more natural color rather than the grayish hue from the night before. He instinctively blinked up at the several IV's he was attached to and dragged his gaze to the chair he had sat in hours earlier. He tried to be as quietly as possible as he retrieved the piece of furniture from the corner of the room, lifting it up rather than dragging it and causing unnecessary noise, placing it by the side of the bed where it had stood and sitting himself down. The way his body ached as he did told him that if his mind didn't remember how horrible the chairs were, his body definitely did. As he sat, he wished he had brought a book to read or a case file. With a pang, he realized he hadn't made sure to inform his boss that he wouldn't be there that day either. His fingers made deft work of taking his phone from his inside pocket, typing a brief but clear message before sending it and stuffing it back in, resettling in the chair, stretching his legs before him as he considered going down to the waiting room to get a few magazines he had seen there. He quickly decided against it, certain that they were not his kind of magazine anyway and he would just be as bored gazing ahead as reading them, the magazines for the 'other half' of people, as he liked to call it.

Keeping his gaze trained on Harvey for a long moment and how oddly peaceful he looked, no lines or creases in his expression, he knew that Harvey really did need the sleep. He looked better, but also tired, bluish bruises forming under his eyes. All he could do was stay as quiet as possible and let Harvey's body heal for now, waiting until he would wake up himself.

 _To say that his heart stopped when he saw Gallo across the street from him would be an exaggeration. He had kicked the punk's ass on more than one occasion before, so he knew he could do it again. Obviously, there was no doubt that he intended for them to meet, so Harvey halted in his tracks and waited patiently. He had known that Gallo would leave the prison earlier that week, having managed to cut an insane deal even after all that had happened by having warmed up to another one of Harvey's enemies_ _── fortunately for Gallo one who had been able to pull a lot of strings. It had been bound to happen sooner rather than later anyway, Harvey figured, with all of the attention that had been drawn to their power struggle with Mike getting caught and put in jail._

_The closer's eyes followed the criminal carefully as he made his way across the street, and although he was far from afraid from him, he still felt some sort of worry exude from himself as he wondered if Gallo knew where he was going, if he knew he was meeting Mike and if that had anything to do with the reason why he had picked that exact moment. He felt a fierce protectiveness rise up in his chest that he had always felt for Mike somehow, since the day they met._

_"Gallo," he greeted as soon as the man stopped before his nose, a big smirk upon his face, obviously thrilled that he could prove to Harvey that he was free with or without him. It made Harvey more than slightly sick to his stomach, and he felt his knuckles itch, wanting nothing more than to wipe that smile off of his face and plunge his fist in his teeth._

_"Harvey Specter!" he greeted as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other in years, spreading his arms wide as if to hug him. In fact, they had seen each other not too long ago and they were as far away from friends as possible._

_Harvey's mouth turned in a hard line as he eyed the criminal, and he slid his hands in his pockets, stuffing them deep in an effort to control his aggressive tendencies. Whatever it was that Gallo wanted, whether it was to gloat or to poke the bear a little more, he hoped that he was going to be on his way soon. The last he wanted was to be reminded of the guy being free. He was certain that Gallo knew this. "What is it you want?" he growled._

_"Revenge!"_

_He opened his mouth to ask him how exactly he wanted to achieve that when things suddenly happened very fast. He had no time to jump back or to notify anyone else of the danger as his eyes fell upon a silver blade reflecting the sunlight overhead, a split-second before he was overwhelmed with the most searing pain he had ever felt in his entire life._

A crease crinkled Mike Ross' brow as he looked up at the man in the bed beside him. The first things he noted were the small beads of sweat that had formed upon his forehead that hadn't been there minutes earlier and the way his eyes seemed to zoom back and forth behind closed eyelids, his pale lips parted gently as he released soft, gasped breaths. As he strained his ears, he could swear he heard his own name fall from Harvey's lips just before his entire body began to convulse slightly, head thrashing back and forth. As the movements increased in grandeur and strength, Mike shot to his feet and realized that Harvey was having a sort of panic attack in his sleep.

Instinctively, his hand came down on Harvey's shoulder, shaking gently. He knew he had been told to let Harvey sleep, but realistically, he didn't think it would be a good plan not to wake him up right then. It seemed as if he was reliving the attack. He didn't know why his name would come upon Harvey's lips then, though, but maybe it had to do with the fact that he had been on the way to have lunch together with him when it had happened. He was obviously in distress, and the movements would lead to him ripping stitches or injuring himself worse otherwise if he wasn't careful. "Harvey," he called. "Harvey, wake up."

It took several seconds of Mike shaking his shoulder slightly harder for him to open his eyes with a gasped inhale of air, gulping breaths wrecking his body for several seconds in which he seemed to be coming to completely. Mike's hand remained on the other man's shoulder as he sat down on the side of the bed, gently squeezing in a vain attempt to offer reassurance. It took a long moment before the older man seemed to be completely aware of where he was and his gaze travelled towards the hand on his shoulder, up the man's arm and into Mike's face. Mike could see him swallow and instinctively reached for the half-full glass of water he remembered to be on the bedside table to offer him something to quench his thirst.

Harvey, however, must have noticed it from the corner of his eyes, because he stopped him with a calm hand on his forearm as if to tell him that it wasn't necessary, and with a glance at Harvey to make sure that he was interpreting it correctly, he pulled his hand back and returned it to his lap. His right hand was still on the older man's shoulder, but this time, it was just resting there, unmoving. His eyes remained on Harvey's face as he tried to determine if there was anything he could do to help, not quite knowing what to say.

Hazel eyes ran along the length of Mike's body as if he was trying to assess any damage. His expression remained unchanged as he spoke, "You're okay."

To this, Mike's face scrunched up even more, his mouth opening without a word leaving it, as he didn't understand the reason why he would say this, until it dawned on him and he could confirm his earlier train of thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, though he knew it had mostly been a statement rather than a question. "Are you okay? It looked like you were having a nightmare of some sort."

"I'm fine." Snapped. Harvey's face became more guarded once again, if the mask had ever fallen to begin with.

Mike sighed, taking his hand back from the older man's shoulder. While Harvey hadn't particularly showed any sort of annoyance towards the gesture, Mike thought it probably wasn't welcome if he could snap at him like that. He just didn't know what to say at the moment, or what to do. Thankfully ── or not? ── he was saved ── or not ── by the door to Harvey's room being opened, followed by raised voices from one of the nurses he remembered from the day before and two unknown voices, one male, one female. Instinctively, he looked towards the door.

As both men directed their gazes towards the door, they were met with two police officers striding into the room, followed by the blonde nurse who had been at the desk the day before, seemingly unhappy with the turn of events. "Mr. Specter needs to rest!" she said in a firm voice. "He had serious surgery just yesterday. He can't be put through more stress than absolutely necessary."

The older, male police officer turned back to the nurse and stated with a raised brow, "Ma'am, it is important that we hear Mr. Specter's side of the story as soon as possible so that we can put it together with the statements of the witnesses and can start looking for the person who did this. This will be over quickly, and then your patient can go back to sleep right away."

The look on the small blonde's face spoke volumes, her lips pulled together angrily, her hair seeming electric as it fell from her already messy bun, but nonetheless, she folded, shooting both of them a glare before turning to Harvey, "If there is anything you need, press the button." After that, she disappeared from sight.

As soon as the foursome heard the door click closed behind the nurse, the air became incredibly professional all at once as the female police officer, tall and lanky with short red hair, regarded Mike as if she was politely wondering who the hell he was and if he could scram so they could have privacy. Harvey followed her gaze and caught her train of thought without having to ask. He was the best closer in New York for a reason, after all. Those who knew wouldn't be surprised at his ability to read people even in the darkest of his hours. "He's my… He used to work for me," he said, dismissively, as he tried to push his body up with a fist in the mattress.

When he seemed to have a hard time doing so one-handedly, he felt himself forced to use his other hand, laying his flat hand on Mike's knee and gripping on, his fingertips digging into the suit and the flesh of the younger man's leg, when he realized Mike was sitting in the area he would have planted his other fist in otherwise, probably wanting to save time in sitting up rather than go through the process of asking him to get off or wait for him to realize it before doing so. Also, it might have looked strange to tell the police officers he could stay but somehow it wasn't even okay for him to sit on the edge of his bed. That was probably also the reason why he didn't verbally attack Mike for leaning over and readjusting his pillow so he could sit back against it as he wormed his way in a good position. Michael Ross did not fail to notice the glare that Harvey gave him, only meant for him and only received by him.

The look in Harvey's eyes made Mike want to shoot up and take a few steps back, away from the bed, but somehow, Harvey had caught his mind jumping to the flee rather than fight option, and as he turned his attention to the cops at the end of the bed, he squeezed Mike's leg just once, meaningfully, before pulling his hand back and letting it rest in his lap with the other one. "I am afraid that there isn't much to say," Harvey spoke, as if he was continuing a conversation that had barely been interrupted. "The man who attacked me is someone I put in jail thirteen years ago when I still worked at the DA's office, by the official name of Francis Hendrik Gallo. He's been looking for a way to get back at me ever since, and he saw his chance when he took a deal and left Danbury Federal Prison at the beginning of this week. I have reason to believe he must have been following me around until he saw a chance to come at me with a knife and stick it in my chest, and that is as much as I can tell you."

Somewhere along Harvey's response, the female police officer had plucked a small notepad and pen from the side pocket of her dark cargo pants to write down presumably the name of his attacker and a few other things. Neither of them spoke until a full minute after Harvey had gone quiet, and the tall balding detective wondered aloud if there was anything more he could tell them.

"You can get all of the information you need on Gallo from my secretary, at Pearson Specter Litt," he said, deflecting the question easily before dismissing them. In that moment, Mike became acutely aware of Harvey's voice sounding stronger than it had the day before, the bossiness present in it again. "I doubt that there is anything more I can tell you regarding the matter. I will contact you if I think of something else."

Both police officers clearly taken aback by the amount of information and answers to unasked questions, they seemed unable to come up with anything more, briefly looking at each other and nodding as if to tell each other that they had what they had come for. The tall male was the one who spoke again. "Thank you for your statement on the matter. We will make sure to contact your secretary. Do contact us if you think of anything else that could help us put our case together." At that, he reached for his breast pocket to retrieve a small contact information card, turning it around in his fingers and handing it to Harvey, taking two steps nearer to do so before taking one back.

Harvey nodded at him politely and respectfully in goodbye, both police officers doing the same and returning the gesture, addressing first Harvey, then Mike, before the man nudged his head at his colleague to tell her it was time to go.

"Have a good day," Mike offered.

"Have a good day," the female police officer repeated before following the example of her colleague, giving a small smile before turning on her heel and walking in his footsteps to leave the room.

The two men remained quiet for several moments after the hospital door clicked closed behind them, as if they had expected the nurse to come bustling back in or something. Both of them were lost in their own thoughts for the moment, Mike remaining seated on the edge of the bed, mostly thinking about the way Harvey had trashed in his sleep before the police arrived, worried that he wasn't doing as well as he made himself seem to be doing, wondering if he really was okay and wishing that for once he could ask the question and get an honest answer. He remembered the words from his doctor the day before regarding the emotional side being more difficult to deal with than the physical one for most. Harvey Specter was not like most people, everyone knew, but he was human nonetheless ── as was Mike, and as much as he wished his strong mind had learned that conversation with Harvey didn't work like it did with any other person, he couldn't help letting the caring side of him come to the surface. "How are you really?" he asked in as gentle a tone as he could muster, the plea in his words audible ── a plea for Harvey to just give him an honest answer for once.

Harvey pursed his lips as he looked up at Mike with an expression that told him he had heard the plea in the younger man's question and he didn't appreciate being put on the spot. Mike could tell that the older man was watching him carefully, as if he was debating his answer. The reply that slipped past his lips after several moments confirmed that idea. "I'm…" and Mike could tell that the word 'fine' was pushing to the forefront again. He was grateful for the fact that Harvey stopped himself and reconsidered. With a sigh, he admitted. "I've been better, but I will live. It is nothing I won't survive."

A part of Mike wanted to smile at the honesty provided, but a bigger part of him found that he couldn't, after having had the confirmation that Harvey wasn't fine exactly, even though he had known. It was a double-edged sword to hear Harvey tell him the truth. He felt a bit squeamish as he realized that Harvey's admission probably only barely covered the truth. Regarding him, he felt a strange urge creep up to him to lean over and hug him, as he remembered the way his mentor had embraced him when he handed in his letter of resignation. They had always had a special dynamic between them, ever since the day he had dumped a suitcase of pot at the older man's shiny shoes. They had always had a mutual understanding and protection towards one another, with their inside jokes and quotes. He hadn't really expected for Harvey to make that small hand gesture there to invite him in for a hug when he had merely extended his hand, hadn't expected for him to allow that kind of friendly intimacy, never mind initiate it. It had definitely surprised him.

As much as he had felt that it was the right thing to do, he had to admit that he had been anxious to be on the brink of diving into a new life without Harvey as his mentor by his side, before things had come crashing down and he had ended up in jail, Harvey having to do everything within his power to get him free ── and do everything he had. The older man's embrace had made him feel like he had been enveloped by something impenetrable and safe, as if to provide him the strength he needed to make the decision and live with it. He remembered the way Harvey had said that he would kick him on the street himself if he hadn't resigned then, after the case he had made. He also remembered the look in the other man's eyes when they had sat in the restaurant with glasses of scotch between them and Harvey had offered him a way back. The contradiction had been and still was present.

As much as he had felt then that he had been enveloped by something impenetrable and safe, casting his eyes upon the fresh bandage wrapped around Harvey's chest, he was painfully reminded of the fact that maybe Harvey Specter was not that impenetrable, because there was a big gaping hole in him now, barely stitched together by people who had studied to do so. If it hadn't been for improved medicine, he wouldn't have made it. Still, the need to lean over and just feel Harvey alive against him was there, if not to reassure Harvey, then to reassure himself. For the past half decade, he had been a constant in Mike's life, and he just needed to reassert certainty that he was going to continue to be.

After his Grammy had passed away, Harvey Specter had been the one to tell him what he had needed to hear, to stand by his side and defend him when he had needed someone to do so. Harvey Specter had been the one to understand his need to unwind and even gotten high with him. For all people said about him, he was incredibly perceptive and good at knowing what exactly people needed even if he was careful not to reveal himself as the kind of person who needed anything at all. As much as he was known to put his own needs first, Mike knew that he had meant it when he said he would go to jail for him. He had begged him to do so, in fact, to point the finger at him and let Harvey take the fall. He just hadn't been able to do it, for he had had so much more to lose than Mike had, he had felt. For him, going down a different path wouldn't be as hard as it would have been for Harvey, who had made his job his own and based his entire life around his profession, at which he was very good. He couldn't imagine Harvey not being a corporate lawyer.

"What's with you?"

Blinking, realizing he had been lost in thought, Harvey's harsh words brought him back to the present. As he refocused and noticed the way Harvey's brow was furrowed at him in question and mockery, he suddenly became acutely aware of the way he looked. A small gush of air coming from the half-open window blew across his face, teasing the small trail of wetness that had leaked from his eye. He hadn't even noticed that he was crying. Reaching up in embarrassment, he wiped at his cheek to hide the evidence. Harvey's mockery dug deep, and he made to slide off the edge of the hospital bed and put distance between them. Why the fuck had he been crying?

Harvey's hand on his forearm stopped him from moving away as soon as he had set his feet down and brought Mike's gaze, which he had cast down, back to his. Hazel eyes showed regret, the closer's expression sincere. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Apologies didn't fall off of Harvey Specter's lips easily.

Once, Jessica Pearson had been told to shove compassion down Harvey's throat if that was what he lacked. It hadn't been her who had shoved it down his throat, though, but Mike, and he hated it… sometimes. Harvey vividly remembered the way he had pushed Mike to hit him before going to jail. It hadn't just been a ploy to make sure Mike could take care of himself in there but also a cloaked way for him to relieve the intense guilt he felt over Mike's situation, by making Mike punish him for the choice he had made. He hadn't even tried to defend himself.

"You know, if it makes you feel any better," Harvey began, in a casual but serious voice, gentle but firm, calm and even, "I'm not planning on going anywhere. I'm not going to lie, I would prefer it if you came to work for me again, but if you don't want to and you're happy where you are, I take peace with it. We can still have lunch together sometime, and then hopefully I don't end up getting stabbed in the heart, because I might not be lucky enough to survive it twice."

The look in Mike Ross' blue eyes immediately told him that maybe he had taken it a step too far and it was too soon to joke about it, especially considering how worried Mike obviously was. Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach again, as evidently as it had that night when he had forced Mike to slam his fist in his face, and he figured that opening his mouth was only making it worse. Making a split-second decision and slowly raising his arm, he nudged his head gently at his former associate to let him know he was interpreting the gesture it correctly. It took a few moments of hesitation before Mike complied, doing his best not to lean too heavily upon the edge of the bed and especially Harvey himself.

Noting Mike's awkward and cramped stance as he obviously tried to be careful of his wound and not hurt him, feeling the younger man's need to hold on for a little while longer, Harvey gently pressed his shoulder, making him sit down on the edge of the bed again, so as to relieve a bit of the tension of embracing with one of them standing up and one of them sitting up in bed. It made things marginally more comfortable.

Mike wasn't entirely sure how long they held each other, Mike reveling in the feel of Harvey, alive and well, against him, his heart beat and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, strong and steady. It was only when he felt the older man cramp against him, a soft half-hidden wince escaping his mouth, that Mike felt it was best to pull away and create some more space between them again. It was as he sat back, relief coursing through his chest, that he felt his stomach grumble and it was brought to his attention that it was probably close to lunch time and that he was hungry for the first time since the day before. He hadn't bothered to eat that morning either, not having felt hungry at all. Suddenly, he was starving.

Either Harvey had heard the rumble of the other man's stomach as well, or it was his high perceptiveness that notified him of Mike's current state. "You should eat lunch," he stated. "Since I wouldn't advise the food here to anyone, I'll give you my card and you can get anything you want. I still owe you for yesterday's lunch, after all."

At this, Mike frowned, head shaking from the left to the right in rejection of the offer already. He didn't know where Harvey always got those crazy ideas from that he owed him something, anything. "That's not necessary," he said, before continuing, realizing that whether he accepted Harvey's card or not, he did need to eat, if the haziness in his brain was any indication. "I do need something to eat, though. Will you be okay here if I go down and grab something and stretch my legs for a bit?"

Harvey gave a one-shoulder shrug, his lips pulling in a tight line. "Well, I've always believed hospitals to be places of torture. Let's just say I sure as hell don't plan on staying here another two weeks."

Mike couldn't help but smile at the grumpy response that was so like Harvey Specter as he got up, stretching his back, opening his chest up after having sat for a long time, the discomfort from the day before not having gone entirely. "Seriously, though," he spoke. "Is there anything you need, anything I can bring back for you?"

Licking his lips, Harvey's eyes tingled with mischief as he considered the valid options. He debated for a long moment before finally admitting, "I'd kill for a hot dog with sauerkraut and mustard."

A soft chuckle escaped Mike's lips, and he felt oddly freed at the light-hearted teasing between them that he had missed so much since leaving Pearson Specter Litt. "I thought the great Harvey Specter didn't do condiments."

The relief he had felt before was nothing compared to how he felt when a grin spread across Harvey's face as he formed his response. "This time, I'm not wearing a suit that I can ruin."

A snort escaped Michael Ross, mischief dancing in his blue eyes as well. He knew this game, and he had played it with Harvey since the day they met. He was good at it, and he enjoyed it. It had lit up his days when they had still worked together, and he was not remotely surprised that it still did to that day. "No, that is evident," Mike said, exaggeratedly glancing over Harvey's bare chest.

"Hey!" Harvey interrupted, expression offended. "I'll have you know I'm not completely naked!"

"If you say so…"

Harvey simply stared at him with his brow furrowed, offended and angry, obviously debating whether or not he should prove his point and show Mike that he really was wearing something underneath the sheet. He felt a surge of gratefulness for Ray's loyalty, having driven up to his loft and used the extra key to retrieve some things for Harvey and bring them up to the hospital before six-forty-five that morning. He decided to let it rest as thinking of Ray reminded him of the firm he had left in ruins. He had no doubt that Pearson Specter Litt was probably burning by then. In fact, it had been even before he had ended up in the hospital. "Listen, Mike," he began with a sigh. "I know you're probably busy with your new job and everything, so it's fine if you can't comply to my request, but I wanted to ask you if you could try to help keep the firm intact until I'm back. With Jessica leaving and Louis going off the deep end… You know."

Mike didn't need him to finish. He nodded, face serious once more. He could see where it was heading. "I do know," he said.

"If you don't want to do it for yourself, please do it for me."

Mike Ross inhaled sharply through his nose as he considered the request carefully, Harvey's low rumbled words sinking in. His mind was catapulted back to all of the cases Harvey and he had worked together, the feelings of elation that they had experienced together when they won case after case, especially when they had been tough and seemed impossible to overcome at first. He hadn't gone into work since the day before, and he highly doubted that he would during the rest of the day, or the next. He guessed where he currently was told him all he needed to know. As much as he wanted to be independent and away from the law firm, the job that had put him in jail to begin with, it was hard to ignore the fact that it had brought him so much good, too.

He had learned so much about himself and his abilities since his first day there. Things might not have worked with Rachel and him eventually, but they had had a good run until near the end, and he had gained a family as well through the job. That had not been a lie. Despite them not being bonded by blood, he had a family that he could count on, and Harvey was part of that family that he would never be disloyal to or leave to fend for themselves if he could help it. Maybe the wounds had been too fresh still when Harvey offered him his job back under a new title, but it would have been a lie if he said he hadn't thought about the offer and his answer to it since. It wasn't that he didn't feel satisfaction in his job at the legal clinic, but it was just not the same. It wasn't like working with Harvey Specter had been.

Mike found himself nodding before he realized it. He would deal with the technicalities later, his answer driven by his need to help and be loyal to his family. "Of course," he said.

In the moments after Mike's agreement, both of them remained quiet and unmoving, until a bit more of the truth spilled past Harvey's lips in a gentle, calm tone, "I really do miss working with you."

Mike couldn't help but smile at the admission, and the guard he didn't know he had held up probably ever since they had taken him in for fraud suffered a dent, chipped away with every second that Harvey looked at him with that sheepish little smile on his lips. "I miss working with you, too," he spoke. "In fact, I miss you ── period. Life just isn't the same without your daily digs."

Harvey raised his brow in question. "So are you trying to get me to say I miss you in more areas, too?" he asked. Although his question was rhetorical, Mike's response told him that the answer would be positive. He had his brow raised as well expectantly, as if he was challenging Harvey to answer his own question. "I do. You know I do," he eventually admitted.

Mike's smile became possibly wider at the admission from the great Harvey Specter, however grudgingly given. He decided not to be too greedy and push him for what exactly Harvey did.

Harvey seemed to appreciate this, Mike could tell by the look in his eyes. The older man bit back another wince as he shifted his position, but he couldn't stop the discomfort from flitting across his face, however briefly. "Seriously, Mike," he spoke, his voice a little constricted, telling Mike that his painkillers were probably wearing off. "Thanks for doing all this. Whenever I get to leave this place, I'm buying you lunch ── no buts."

The former associate's smile remained in place a few moments longer before it faltered and he looked down at his feet, at his toes stuffed in a less-than-professional pair of shoes. He took a deep breath as he collected his thoughts before looking up again, pinning Harvey's hazel gaze with his own blue one. "I miss you more than the job," he admitted. "Don't misunderstand me. I loved the job, and all that came with it... but the job was only ever worth it for me because it meant that I got to work with you."

As soon as he had finished speaking, Michael Ross became awfully aware of how much of his thoughts and feelings he had just spilled. He swallowed the bile he felt rising in his throat. He felt sick to his stomach as anxiousness overwhelmed him, terrified of how Harvey would respond. He had no doubt at all that Harvey would see his words for what they were: a confession. Mike felt more trapped than he ever had in his whole life, torn between wanting to turn on his heel and run and closing the distance between them to shut Harvey up before he could tell Mike that it wasn't going to happen, whatever he had just hinted at. He refused to look at Harvey and the look in his eyes. If he had, he would have noticed the way pale lips had parted as he tried but didn't quite know what to say. "Mike…"

Looking up at last as his name fell from the older man's lips, seeing the resigned look in his eyes that he had seen in more than one woman's before, he felt that he couldn't bare it anymore. His heart beating hard in his chest cavity, throbbing threateningly in his throat, he felt like it would slip from his mouth as soon as he parted his lips, so he clamped them together stiffly, taking slow, measured steps towards Harvey, the look in his eyes wild. "I…" he began, but he didn't quite know what he was going to say or should. He wasn't sorry for what he had said; he just regretted the way it had happened.

The utterance of that one letter seemed enough for Harvey to understand what Mike wanted to say still, though, oddly enough. The look in his eyes and the way he slid his hand back to make room on the edge of his bed was all the invitation Mike needed, and he slowly lowered himself, figuring he would enjoy the shred of openness offered by the man before him in an effort to soften the blow, which would undoubtedly follow next. "Mike…"

At hearing his name fall from those soft-looking lips again, in that voice he had grown to recognize anywhere, listen to and appreciate, immediately eliciting feelings of respect, he lost it. It was like a short circuit in his brain, and before he knew it, he had taken the leap, unthinkingly, his not-so-realistic side pushing him towards doing what he knew he would be told never to do again. From that moment, it would be set in stone, and it would no longer be a fantasy Harvey didn't know about or judge.

As his pale lips touched Harvey's, more pliant and smooth than he could have dreamt, it felt like the short circuit was setting his brain on fire. For several seconds he felt like he couldn't think, just feel. His brain just stopped working, at first ── a strange sensation he couldn't say he had felt before. He felt the surprise in the stiffness of the lips underneath his, and as his brain caught up with him after a handful of seconds, it hit him with a pang that he had just assaulted his former boss. He made to pull away when he felt the other man kiss back, his lips beginning to move, encouraging Mike's to do the same. A moan slipped from his mouth into Harvey's as he felt Harvey engage, and he was lost… until Harvey was the one who made to pull away, just before things got too heated. A gentle hand on Mike's shoulder kept them separated by a few inches. Mike could still feel the other man's breath on his face as he opened his eyes and looked into a sea of hazel, stormy and wild as he had seen them whenever he felt most fierce about a case. His breathing was significantly more labored.

He opened his mouth to apologize, to fill up the deafening silence, when Harvey spoke first. "I'm not saying no," he said. "I just… I don't have the stamina I wish I had."

Mike's eyes widened, the blubbered unspoken apologies dying on his lips. "Oh," he voiced, before a smile of mischief teased the corners of his mouth again. "Maybe we can try to build towards increasing it. You know, as a part of your recovery."

"We'll see," Harvey whispered, but the small smile on his mouth hadn't disappeared. He was not rejecting him, Mike realized, and in that moment, he couldn't care less if it was because he was doped up on meds or not. If it was, he ── they ── would deal with it when they had to. "You will have to provide me with decent sustenance in return, though. It is, after all, a privilege to kiss Harvey Specter."


End file.
